


Given

by IllusionaryEnnui



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: AU, Begging, Confessions, Cullistair, Cyber Themes, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Kink Prompt(s), Kinks, M/M, Modern AU, Multi, Oral Sex, Other, Past Friendship(s), Past Relationship(s), Platonic Relationships, Series, Situational Homosexuality, Smut, Templar Training, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, Writing, fetishes, for one of them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-03-31 21:46:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 4,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3993994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllusionaryEnnui/pseuds/IllusionaryEnnui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>We desire. We love. We seek purpose. Acceptance. What promises we keep hold power. What kindness we share returns in time. What are we amidst these, each thread drawn and tied.</i> || A series of short fills to ask box kink prompts from my tumblr featuring various characters ranging from fluffy moments to smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How We Are || Alistair x Cullen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This installment comes via a prompt from an anon: 299 from the [list](http://fetishfuel.wikia.com/wiki/Examples_of_Common_Kinks,_Tropes,_Clich%C3%A9s,_and_Fetishes) with Cullen/Alistair as roommates in Templar training || Probably not what the anon was looking for. I went with them just basically living in Kinloch Hold, being themselves as new recruits and growing up together one day so to speak…

_They see behind truth_  
_My knuckles raw and righteous_  
_This is how we are._

How many times was it now?

Three fights in the past month alone?

The polishing cloth wrinkled, caught between tired fingers and half-clean greaves. Knight-Commander Greagoir, sour-faced and weary, left him down in the armoury some hours ago to serve his penance. His hourglass sat alone in his cell, forgotten - those hour went uncounted as he yawned for the fourth time and masked the creak of the smithy’s door.

“Alistair.”

The bastard prince winced, his bruised eyes tender and swollen, when he shot up a glance toward his fellow recruit. Head-titled until the close-cut curls fought to fall into his eyes, Cullen Rutherford stared

If there was ever a perfect, more eager candidate for knighthood, it was this boy from Honnleath. Focused. Studious. Skilled. What more could the Order ask in him?

“Shouldn’t you be at vespers?” Gritting his teeth, Alistair scrubbed at a spot on the Knight-Commander’s armour with a rougher hand than necessary. “Get those robes dirty and we’ll both be in trouble.”

With a practice hand, Cullen slipped out of the habit and set it aside, the folds as neat as could be. Underneath it lay the same simple garb like Alistair wore. Yet unlike his, no blood stains or oil marred the plain linen. No creases ruined the fit, far better than Alistair managed. Training suited his fellow better in the year they spent in the same cell. Just the other day, did he not hear some of the female recruits mocking him for his lacking while praising Cullen?

“Vesper were over three hour ago.” Another rag in hand, Cullen slid down the wall to sit beside Alistair on the straw-strewn stones. His long fingers stroked an untouched vambrace, the metal beneath them tarnish by time alone. Gingerly, he picked it up and separated the plates, piece by piece. And then, he sighed as he set his own cloth to match Alistair’s rhythm. “You never came to bed.”

Even as he bit back his wit, jealousy never marked Alistair’s thoughts of Cullen. He didn’t care how much harder he worked or didn’t, how much praise and promise wrapped him in their pleasures.  He knew the lines, the gifts they were both given or not given.

Only one word fell from his sleep-thickened tongue: “Thanks.”


	2. No Lies || Alistair x F!Amell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This installment comes via a prompt from an anon: 351 from the [list](http://fetishfuel.wikia.com/wiki/Examples_of_Common_Kinks,_Tropes,_Clich%C3%A9s,_and_Fetishes) during Alistair's first blowjob. I went with the pairing of Alistair/Female Amell.

_You gave of yourself_  
_To what drives, calls, and now holds_  
_all power o’er me._

Blistering heat. Searing, caught in the sweat trailing down the Fereldan King’s bowed spine. She brought that fire to its pinnacle, her mouth wet and hot around his length. Maker, despite her hesitance, she had not lied about being well-read.

“Love, I –“

His fingers fisted in her hair, the silken strands wrapped tight around his fingers. The tip of her tongue slowly lavished each ridge, careful and measured. Her name ghosted across his lips, a muffled prayer, as blunt nails dug into her scalp. Never again would he teased her for her books. By the Gold City, he would empty the treasury to stock her shelves with every tome from the Circle.

A tender hand, the fingers splayed, slid up his trembling thighs to creep like a whisper up the tightening muscles of his abdomen. Again, the flames she stoke grew brighter as she took him deeper and two clever digits sought his root. With thumb and forefinger, she played him well along the nerved stretch of skin that would undo her king. He swelled and in that moment, forgot to breathe.

For a shining second, he felt it – everything coalesced to a single, solidarity exhale. Every fear turned to exhilaration. Every strength muted to weakness. The heady spiral took a bastard prince into its comfort and left only a man, a man who could only hide her away from a world who only saw her as a weapon or threat.

Her hoarse sputtering brought him back, panting and his nerves still tingling. He watch her swallow, his seed as hot as his skin trickling down her throat. Her eyes, framed by sweat-slick hair, were red and rimmed by the sting of tears. The bed creaked beneath them, her face gathered in wide palms and a thumb brought to brush those tears from that kind, worn gaze.

“Ma-“

The mage pressed a finger to his lips as she wiped at her own, the pale pink tongue wetting their bruised flesh.

“I– I’m fine.” She gave him a smile, a warm and gentle thing. Falling around him, her body moulded into his arms, into that safe haven that held her heart. “But, um… did… did you like it?”

His chuckled floated on a pleasant breath where his lips arched into a mirthful curve.

“Oh, you’ve no idea.” His hands snaked around her waist and the Hero of Ferelden found herself beneath her chosen king. Around them, the velvety sheets of his chambers billowed and still he grinned, heedless of the lavishness of his new station. What did he care when he had what he loved most in his grasp? His mouth found hers, her legs hitched high, and they were **home**. “ _Now_ , I’d like to return to the favour.”


	3. Paired || Alistair x Cullen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This installment comes via a prompt from an anon: 329 from the [list](http://fetishfuel.wikia.com/wiki/Examples_of_Common_Kinks,_Tropes,_Clich%C3%A9s,_and_Fetishes) Cullistair during their Templar training years || _Situational Homosexuality_ was an interesting setting...

_Friend and brother;_  
For this, I give of myself  
as we are but these.

The Order built itself on rigid faith, on routine, and reliance. One’s brother was one shield and you, theirs. You were their sword as they, your own. Equal. Pillars matched to serve the same purpose. The needs of one fell on the whole, a hand offered without shame.

Alistair Theirin bit his tongue, choking back a pleasured groan. Breath after breath grew more ragged. His own strokes faltered and a hiss snapped open amber eyes.

Half-lidded golden irises smouldered back in the lantern light of the cell, their hand squeezing Alistair’s length in a more languid fashion. Alistair tightened his grip and brought those gilded hues to slid shut. The rhythm began again. Stronger. Earnest but no less compassionate.

They were brothers not of blood but in bond. Their needs were shared, easily purged rather than denied. They could hate themselves for it, but they could not hate one another in that solitary place. Could not hate the hand traced every ridge, the fingers that brought every nerve alight. How could they disdain the mouths which marked skin and cloth alike, bruised or sweat-soaked?

“I bet –” Alistair paused, his tongue over parched lips. “– I can make you come first.”

A mouth quirked in up, a lopsided smile.

“I’ll take –“ Clever fingers found that nerved stretch of skin at the root of Alistair’s shaft and the young man entangled with him shuddered. “ – that bet.”

That morning, Cullen Rutherford found his pocket a silver heavier.


	4. So Long || Ander x F!Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This installment comes via a prompt from an anon: 36 from the [list](http://fetishfuel.wikia.com/wiki/Examples_of_Common_Kinks,_Tropes,_Clich%C3%A9s,_and_Fetishes) with Anders and Hawke || This one didn’t go as planned. But at least it ended on a happy note for a lady Hawke, I think.

_We have two faces here_  
_Wants and needs, split asunder  
_ _Still we breathe. left free_

“Come on.”

Ink wavered over a fresh sheet of parchment. Its quill stilled, the thoughts it meant to transcribed unfocused. Her eyes half-lidded, Hawke rolled her shoulders as her lover pressed a kiss to her nape. Stubble scraped the tender skin and the mouth grew more insistent, trailing up to the scalloped shell of an ear.

“Anders, I said no.” It was late and she was tired. Five petitions and a sixth nearly finished, she needed every moment. They needed sanctuary as the war began to rage. The Circle in Hossberg gave them that peace as they too prepared to rise up. Ferelden with its Hero, born a mage herself, may have been their only hope, if for a time. They were freer there then they could be in the Free Marches or Orlais.

“Please?” A wide, long-fingered hand slid down her spine and around her waist. His voice deepened, a huskier sound dripping with his lust. “It’s been so long and I’m positively  _aching_.”

Honeyed words carried only so much weight, but the palm slipping between her legs sparked its own fire. She had to admit – she liked it. Every word, every promise of pleasure stoked the flames. His fingertips scraped along her skin, slipping under the thin linen of her blouse. The quill was stolen from her grip by his free hand and tossed aside. His magic thrummed where the other met her flesh, cool enough to paint her skin its goosebumps. Caught between those prettied whispers and the brush of his length to her back, stiff and growing, she knew there was no escape.

_Maker, he was always good with his hands._

“Fine. You win.”

She never finished her letter, lean muscles pulling her away into the night and into a tangle of threadbare sheets.

And she didn’t regret it.

Not one bit.


	5. Envy || Leliana and Josephine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This installment comes via a prompt from an anon: 94 from the [list](http://fetishfuel.wikia.com/wiki/Examples_of_Common_Kinks,_Tropes,_Clich%C3%A9s,_and_Fetishes) with Josephine and Leliana || Divine Victoria has been hold back all these years here...

_I wanted to hold_  
all of your being closer;  
never were you mine.

Her cowl joined the headdress, both tossed aside along with the ceremonial robes. Leliana, Divine Victoria herself, slid down onto the Orlesian silks strewn across her bed. Val Royeaux hummed just beyond, unchanged as vespers continued, the Chanty suspended by the distance. All was opulence. Elegance. Too much for one more intimate with shadows.

“Josie?”

At the beckoning, the Antivan pressed a glass of brandy into Leliana’s hand, a second held back for her own.

“Most Holy?”

“I thought I told you not to call me that.” The brandy smoothed down her tongue, just sweet enough to bring her tongue ghosting over lips. Her fellow bard, even so removed, knew her tastes well. Still, she sighed and laid back, splaying her limbs across the patterned duvet. “My dear Hero never got used to her title and it seems I’m no better.”

“Has she been in contact?”

Leliana frowned, the last of the brandy slipping like silk down her throat. Habit closed her fingers around the crystal decanter to pour herself another measure. Two more followed, one after another. She felt the heat suffused the pale expanse of her skin, a warm haze. But it did not dull the weariness, the weight.

“The Chantry had been my succour before her,” she mumbled, curling up on herself as the bed dipped and Josephine’s fingers combed through tangled red locks. “But she… I loved her. I loved her for her kindness, her compassion. So like the Inquisitor, but somehow closer. I watched Alistair charm her with such childish guiles. A natural skill, but she was no better. They were so perfect, so right…”

Gentle fingers loosened more of the tangles, attentive and soothing.

“But you still loved her?”

“Yes.” Goose-down moulded beneath her head. She buried her face in its softness. She couldn’t let her see how the steely eyes narrowed, how her mouth bowed low or how her teeth clicked against the tide. “I loved them both, really. If nothing else, I’m  _glad_  that he never let her go.”

What was one more lie among the throng? 

What was envy to the holy?

_Forgive me._


	6. Between the Lines || Varric x Bianca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This installment comes via a prompt from an anon: 104 from the [list](http://fetishfuel.wikia.com/wiki/Examples_of_Common_Kinks,_Tropes,_Clich%C3%A9s,_and_Fetishes) with Varric and Bianca || Not my usual fare for style, but definitely a Modern AU...

> _It could’ve been me  
>  but fate twisted on itself  
>  even so, I try._

 

> _InkDeshyr has logged in._
> 
> **[ InkDeshyr ]** : Is he asleep?
> 
> **[ GearGal ]:**  its 3 in the morning what do you expect
> 
> **[ InkDeshyr ]:** Better typing from a technological genius?
> 
> **[ GearGal ]:**  fuck you
> 
> **[ InkDeshyr ]:** I’d be more than happy to let you fuck me if you hadn’t married that nug-blighted oaf.
> 
> **[ GearGal ]:**  come over here n say that
> 
> **[ InkDeshyr ]:**  I like my balls where they are, thank you.
> 
> **[ GearGal ]:**  youre still an idiot.
> 
> **[ GearGal ]:** r we still on for saturday?
> 
> **[ InkDeshyr ]:** Your husband out of town, your family working on a new project and a room booked at the new hotel outside Halamshiral – what do you think?
> 
> **[ GearGal ]:**  point taken
> 
> **[ GearGal ]:**  oh ive got something new for you while we’re there
> 
> **[ InkDeshyr ]:**  Kinky. I already like it.
> 
> **[ GearGal ]:**  its a processor for your motherboard nugbreath D:<
> 
> **[ GearGal ]:** but if youre up to it…
> 
> **[ InkDeshyr ]:** Anything you want, my lady. ;)
> 
> **[ GearGal]:**  flatterer
> 
> **[ GearGal ]:** shit
> 
> **[ GearGal ]:**  gotta go
> 
> _GearGal is now offline._

* * *

 

Varric let a smile play across his features as the lid of his laptop slid closed, its solitary light snuffed to let the darkness creep back in. Just one more thing to remind him how little he had left now. He had his books, the newspaper, and his network of informants for the paper. Even if Davri elders might hate him and Bianca’s bastard husband kept her sheltered, she never failed to brighten his night.

It wasn’t perfect, but he didn’t care.

“Until the ‘morrow, my dear Bianca.”


	7. Power || Dorian x M!Trevelyan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This installment comes via a prompt from [slugette](http://archiveofourown.org/users/slugette/pseuds/slugette): 378 from the [list](http://fetishfuel.wikia.com/wiki/Examples_of_Common_Kinks,_Tropes,_Clich%C3%A9s,_and_Fetishes) with her Yvad Trevelyan and Dorian || More Enchanter Mara here and for some reason, I find it easier to write this pairing than others now... *chuckles*

_Too long without you_  
Your warmth and pleasured given  
Wanted and now sought

 

> **_Ambient energies, both natural and conjured, profit a mage most by –_ **

Dorian blamed Solas for the weathered tome in his lap. Damn that blasted elf – so he had been mistaken in his assumption of the technique, chastising him in returned did not ease its sting. So there he sat, a copy of his favourite novel forgone for another text borrowed from Lady Mara’s limited stock. Nothing extravagant or particularly entertaining, full of notations and vague descriptions, he let the next page fold over itself. Unhurried. Soft. Quiet… too quiet.

Dark, shaded eyes peered up from the yellowed pages. The library lay before him, not a soul or spirit slinking in light or shadow. Books kept their secrets in the stillness, their voices unheard. Yet, he felt the weight of a gaze like the whispering brush of wind before a storm.

A hand, long-fingered and fair, trailed over an olive shoulder. At its touch, Dorian bristled, twisting in his great chair.

“Maker, Yvad!” Eyes snapped closed, his breath rushed from his lungs and sucked back down, burning. By the Golden City, he was better than that. Yvad was cunning, yes. But slinking up to hide, to cloak himself enough to pass  _him_  by? “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“You’re worse than my sister, getting lost in those things.” Lean muscles draped around the altus’ shoulders, their mantle warm and playful. Violet irises hid their mirth in the gentled wave of Dorian’s hair as Yvad slid his hands over the maze of buckles and leather. Doeskin glided over snowfleur hide, long legs straddled thighs left to pin the Tevinter mage into his seat. 

_Maker, Yvad!_

He could feel him caught between them, hard and greedy. He felt himself stir, their time apart read in more than touch and the caress of an wanton mouth.  The book once balance on his knee toppled onto the ancient stone floor, its words forgotten even as it lay open to stare alone at the rafters.

“But now, I have something more pressing in mind.”

“You certainly do.” Dorian grinned, his moustache drawn to unveil pearly teeth. Eager and learned, broad palms wandered up the sensual curve of his lover’s spine. There, his fingers curled into the fall of ebony spilling over them at the young man’s nape. “Does the Inquisitor enjoy the power he thinks he has over me?”

“Don’t I always?”


	8. Yours || Blackwall x Josephine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This installment comes via a prompt from _blanska_ : 405 from the [list](http://fetishfuel.wikia.com/wiki/Examples_of_Common_Kinks,_Tropes,_Clich%C3%A9s,_and_Fetishes) || I choose Blackwall and Josephine for this one...

> _These hands, opened here  
>  Hold now both light and shadow  
>  Given unto this_

Carver Hawke left his charge to stand alone, the murmuring clatter of the camp and the summer night wrapping them in its comfort. Inside, Thom Rainier had expected to find the Warden-Commander in her tent along with the Arcanist, but neither of them were to be found. Only an empty table strewn with reports, scribbled circles of magic formulae, and an untouched supper awaited, forgotten.

_The boy had said they were busy, but every night?_

Entangled, no one saw the Commander’s lanterns snuffed out even in the darkest hours when the rest lay in slumber. Dagna, her reluctance held in the wary shift of her eyes, promised that he needn’t worry, that his Joining was at hand. He only needed to be paitent.

 _She’s got a lot on her mind, but I’m helping. Don’t worry about it,_  the crafty dwarf assured him.  _It’s a special project that might answer a lot of questions. Oh, it’s been weeks and the excitement hasn’t stopped. Did you know –_

Rumours caught like wildfire among the ranks. Ferelden’s King set his own escort among them alongside her accompaniment of Wardens and even they too had their gossip. They whisper that the Warden-Commander still held the king’s heart, that the Wardens are her refuge as she could never stand beside him. Others cloak themselves in shadow, wondering that her magic and the Taint have driven her mad, that her search for a cure was naught but folly even as they let the threads of hope grow tighter. Yet one and all, they hold her in humble reverence, their heads bowed as she passed. She was their healer. Their light. Their purpose.

_Can I do the same? Can I make things right and prove myself?_

The inkwell rattled in his gauntlet, metal clinking against hammered metal. A tired hand set it back down as the other reached for the leather and the crafted plated. Piece by piece, he stripped away the armour to reveal an older sight, scarred by sword and age. Bared fingers found a quill and the ink painted thoughts across a borrowed bit of parchment.

> **_My dear, sweet Josephine –_ **

It was hard. Hard to think of how much he could lose, how many lies he told. But her?

> **_I know I promised to write more often. Seems I haven’t kept my promise. I never thought I would have had to make you wait this long to hear how my Joining fared._ **
> 
> **_Still, there are many things I wish I could tell you. You deserve so much better than this._ **

He stopped, thinking back to that day.

> **_Do you remember when I told you to forgive Our Lady?_ **
> 
> **_I accepted this fate wholeheartedly. What better can I do for Thedas than serve here as I was meant to before? You know as well as I know matter how much I love, my mistakes are mine alone. Yet your letters give me peace._ **
> 
> **_Whatever happens to me, to know you’re safe there with her and the others…_ **

He smiled, the nib of the quill hovering over the page.

> **_… I’m truly happy._ **
> 
> **_Yours,_ **
> 
> **_Thom_ **


	9. Enough || Yvad and Mara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Response to a sentence starter from [slugette](http://archiveofourown.org/users/slugette/pseuds/slugette): "I think I'm forgetting something" Mara and Yvad...
> 
> This is set in the Inquisitor Mara/Enchanter Yvad universe, after the Divine is chosen and certain events happen…

_We will take our steps,_  
seeking light and comfort where  
our prayers transform.

“I think I’m forgetting something…” Yvad stared out from the balcony, spellbound. A heavy trunk lay open on the bed, the metal maw of the lock yawning wide. Robes, some well-wore and others of a finer make, piled wherever they pleased. Some folder sat inside while others hung over the sides. Very few books joined them alongside some trinkets, bits of memory and love given physical form. “What… what is it?”

Clouds, ringed in mauve and pale pink, danced for him as the sun gave them its warmth. The morning would rise over Skyhold that day but it would be his last. At least, for a time.

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten something important?”

A touch of sarcasm encompassed by tenderness, he knew that melody well.

“Mara, forgive me. Surely you didn’t think I would leave without saying  _goodbye_?” His arms opened as he turned, his sister falling into their warmth as she buried her face in his cloak.

She felt so fragile, so small. He often wondered how long it would take for her to recover, her magic only allowing for so much. Giving birth took its toll but little Lia Rutherford was nothing short of a miracle and truly beautiful. Chubby-cheeked and whole, the first curls of gold coiling on her head a testament to her father and mother, a divine thing full of hope. To have lost so much and given nearly everything to bring that light into the world, to have her meant everything. What more could he ask of his family? 

A chuckle bubbled in his throat.

_Yes, my family._

For once, he could not hate the Bann for casting them out, not for this sight. Not for this life.

“I promise to bring gifts back for my baby niece.”

“Gifts, Yvad? No,I just want you to come back in one piece for her nameday,” she mumbled as her thin arms grew tighter around his chest. The voice that had sung him to sleep, who saw him through trial before, quieted, a wavering thread tripping off her tongue. “Tevinter, no matter how Dorian might colour its majesty, is a place where you must be always be wary. Don’t –”

“I’ll be fine.” Even as he spoke, he believed it. For all she taught him, for all they had sacrificed, he would not waste it. This was his path now and he did not walk alone. “I have Dorian, Mara. That  _is_ enough.”


	10. Bearing Gifts || Dorian x Ambigious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian offers the commander a gift from the secret corners of his homeland. However, Cullen decides he must fight to be stronger than an enchantment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember the [Tingler Ring](http://36.media.tumblr.com/eb965ce13bafd5d44d36efeebd5baeb6/tumblr_inline_npwouc4tMx1qkw1hi_500.png) from Origins? Blame [nerdwithabrush](http://www.nerdwithabrush.tumblr.com) for this one. XD

****_All that will glitter_  
holds more than sweeter whispers  
that seek an answer

Unassuming was the mahogany box, its dark lacquer polished to a fine gleam. The delicate scrollwork of Tevinter belied what lay inside like a bridal veil. It felt heavy in the Commander’s hand. Was it some trick? Something that would exploded and leave his office in worse repair than the dust from war and crumbling walls still littering whole? Snakes? Spiders?

 _No,_   _Dorian’s not that cruel. Sera, yes. But this Tevinter?_

Leather creaked as it pulled off one glove to work the golden clasp. A click sounded and the lid popped open to reveal a plush, richly crimson velvet lining. Sitting at its heart nestled a single, unfamiliar ring. The outside, smooth and shiny, glowed in the lantern light. Inside, however, runes marked the curve, telling their own tale of magic and desire. A strange gift to be sure, but there was something about it. Something… inviting. It vibrated beneath his touch. It drew him like a magpie to a dragon’s hoard. He didn’t know it allure until it hugged a scarred forefinger, the band bright next to the worn, callused skin.

Cool and tingling. Blood rushed, faster. Answering some call, singing its own honeyed song. Light and fluid, his head spun. It trickled from finger to chest until it branched through every vein and artery. Seeking. Enveloping.

“That wasn’t meant to be worn on your hand, commander.”

Moss-rimmed amber eyes snapped up.

“Excuse me?”

Beneath his moustache, a mirthful line loosened on the mage’s face. His grey eyes glinted like fire, crinkling at the corners.

“My dear commander, it was meant to…” He paused, his smirk even broader when he winked. His hand twisted in an obscene gesture and flourish. “Well, in the pleasure houses of Minrathous, some consider it a true prize to remember the night. That said…  let’s say its meant to  _enhance_  another, more  _prominent_  length.”

Cullen sputtered.

"Maker’s breath, it would never fit!" 

The warrior’s mouth hung parted, crimson seeped into Fereldan skin. His heart beat like the bodrahns of Starkhaven, headier than the rush blood in his veins to pool between tensed thighs. One breath, one step closer - he couldn’t be more glad for the shadows of his of his desk as he palmed his knee. 

_All this from simple words and a band of gold?_

The ring undulated gently around his flesh, tempting and teasing. Cold matched against heat and Cullen pulled at the fur hanging about his shoulders as sweat painted skin and leather. Need filled that space, calling for answer. Stiffening. Tightening. Every breath shortened. Hungry.

Yet he held himself. The Commander of the Inquisition stared back rather than a mere man. A gift or some prank, he would not let Dorian have satisfaction. Arms crossed where steel gauntlets rattled against steel, he made no move to free the gilded circle.

_The worry remains: how long can I last?_

"Oh-ho.” Dorian quirked a brow and that manic smile curled towards his ears. Had he chose, he could have assured the commander in a clever tongue that the trinket adjusted to its host… and one’s desires. But it was simply more fun to play the game.  "Seems I underestimated you after all. There’s a lucky soul somewhere indeed, I’d imagine."


	11. To Care For You || Blackwall x Lavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prize for the lovely [daiskie](http://daiskie.tumblr.com/) in my tumblr follower giveaway. || Prompt: “Sometimes I wish I didn’t care so much for you.”

_If only this life_  
wondered how long I strive here  
with undeserved want 

How many night had she lay like this? Alone? How many hours could they steal for themselves when the world grew quiet if only he allowed it? The gentle, cool breeze of the Frostbacks teased naked flesh, the silken sheets tangled at her sides. Earthen curls twisted from her round face, free from its ties as it spilled over her dark skin.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t care so much for you.”

He muttered the half-mad words to himself. The muffled whisper of a prayer drifted unheard in his dearest love’s sleep even as a pointed ear twitched to the thrum of a dream. On the bed, a foot shifted beneath what little of the sheet covered that sweet skin, tender and alluring. Far from modest, moonlight crested over a full breast, revealed as her toes pulled away the fabric in her sleep.

So lost to the sight, his tongue darting at dry lips, the flicker of green in that protecting palm stole away thought. Yet, it quieted almost as quickly as his breath. The slice of otherworldly magic – was there anything more frightening? Still, the warrior stood his ground – it was a part of her, every particle another layer, another facet of what he grew to love.

Maker, he had lied to her. He had lied in every stolen word and deed. But here, in that place, the masked torn away? Was he anything but humble? Was he anything but hers now?

“Alani?”

Her name, a divine as the flutter of her hazel eyes at the low call, his voice withdrawn even in that moment. And although his past tugged and cut, he smiled and reached down to touch that gentle face and heard his name – his real name – like winter’s end and her, his spring.

“Aye, love.”


End file.
